Welcome to the Cafe du Watchog, also called RPGen. We're a sandbox style Pokemon site with a focus on everyday life in the Pokemon world. Trainers, Pokemon, criminals, cosmic forces, and normal citizens are all welcome to join in the fun. Kick back and enjoy a cup of coffee with us!

click, click. tssht. Morty's face is cast in an orange hue as he brings his purple lighter to his lips and sparks the tip of a joint, before taking a long draw. Tobacco is for the uninitiated, and while he's usually more cautious in unfamiliar areas, it's like three in the morning and it looks like he's gonna be waiting for a while, so frankly he could give a rattata's ass. Chatter on several of his usual online haunts -get it?- has lead him to the dirty Nacrene City alleyway he currently finds himself in, staring from a relaxed lean against the opposite wall at a locked door, presumably leading to the kitchen of a coffee shop that he's heard so much about. Nevermind how his gym leader friends tell him it's the most happening spot, rumor has it some sick shit went down in this place. In the basement to be exact. Something about a ritualistic mass murder? A cult suicide? Something like that. Details are fuzzy, and Morty's sources aren't the best, but if the most-repeated bits of this place's story are true, it's worth his time, which is why he finds himself a long way from Johto on an unusually cold summer night. Taking another puff, he shifts the weight of his backpack around on his shoulders. Lockpicking is easy as piss, and the safety pins he has tucked and pinned into his lame hipster headband are adequate enough tools for such, but just in case he finds a padlock barring his way, he thought ahead and brought his bolt cutters. Now all he needs is for the two other losers he invited along to show up. He usually does his investigative/nosing around work solo, but Morts thought this'd the best opportunity he'd have to...socialize with the other weirdos in his internet occultist circle. Best case scenario, he makes some direly needed human buddies and the three of them check out some spooky shit together, and Worst case, he fights off internet strangers with his ceremonial dagger/pocket knife and his best only friend, Aleister the Gengar, before posting up somewhere in Pinwheel Forest and smoking more weed while shitposting about UFOs on his phone. Either way, it's not a bad way to spend an evening.

He ashes the tip of his J and brings it to his lips again, before looking out into the street facing him for anyone coming. Shane, and...Milly? Millicent? Something like that. Unassuming names. He hopes they're not unassuming people.

Nothing like some mellow vibes and pot smoke to make a dingy-ass alley more enticing.

Shane was out, looking for some rando he met on the internet who was apparently from another region. Now, a question someone might ask is 'why does Shane think this is a good idea'. In response, I post this question: 'does Shane even have internet access at his house'. Also, 'what made you think I want to hear your shitnose questions'.

Anyway, yeah, it was alley time. Shane was told to go to the alley behind the Watchog cafe. Normally, Shane didn't follow cryptic back-alley tips (not anymore, at least; Shane didn't want to go to the police station again), but there were two factors of note: there was some information about some sort of spooky void cult shenanigans, and this was the cafe where Shane had met fuckin Giratina.

So it was some potentially interesting business. As Shane entered the alley, he accidentally bumped into a trash can, causing the lid to slide off and hit the ground. As it made a crashing noise, he froze.

And for the record, it was not Millicent. Get it right, pleb: It's Milkshake.

Part of running a conspiracy blog meant that you attracted many other truthers like yourself. And from somewhere, in the deep recesses of her web of connections, she was able to find out about one of Nacrene City's dirtiest little secrets.

"You must be my fellow truthers," she said, holding up the camera that dangled from her neck. "This is Milly, of ConspiracyFacts.com, and uncoverer of over 70 theories!"

'Uncovered,' as in 'theories that were never proven, and rely on circumstantial evidence she found.' Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

He expected weirdos, not the circus to roll into town. His eyes shift from GARBOTRON the transformer to the other guy, who was either a master clairvoyant and detected the lifeform in the garbagecan Morty himself missed, or was just some loser who seriously just apologized to a trash can.

"...Whoa, dude." Puff, puff. "Uhhh....-!"

Partly from shock, partly because it's like Morty's fifth night in a row not sleeping (his insomnia really acts up when he's away from home. It's like how people can only poop in their own toilets?), he drops the rest of his doobie, which bounces once on the dirty pavement and scatters luminescent ashes from its now dead tip as it lands. Annoyed mumbling in a tongue that may or may not be english soon follows suit, and just as quickly as it fell, the butt flicks up into the air, following its exact flight path, as its ashes reconverge on the point and relight themselves, before flying up to meet Morty's waiting hand. Picture someone rewinding a movie at 1x speed.

Showing off for strangers complete, Morts takes one last pull then flicks the butt onto the ground himself before stepping on it.

"Uh, right." He dusts off his sweater and nervously adjusts his headband. "Hey, guys. I'm like, super glad you all could come. My name's Morty, better known to you guys and everyone else on infobattles.org as plagueofangels420 and better known to my fellow Johto denizens as the Ecruteak City Gym Leader. I'm here in y'all's region as part of a world tour type thing I've been doing to further my research. I know every paranormal hotspot, ley-line intersection, haunted house and abandoned mental hospital in my home region like the back of my pale, boney hand, so unless I wanted to keep running into the same tortured souls and displaced beings...and hobos, until we're all on first name basis, I had to find some new places to scope out, and hopefully learn some more about why the veil is so thin here. Places like this," he motions with a flourish of his arm towards the back door to the coffee shop, in a fashion that'd have been a lot more needlessly theatrical if he weren't both exhausted and high. With the same arm, he moves to cover his mouth as he coughs, then yawns. A+ physical condition, ready 2 ghostbust.

"Anyways, I reached out to you guys since I figured this spot here is relatively unexplored due to its location inside a regular ol' place of business...uh, some kind of bakery I think? Whatever. I can't have been the only one to have read about the rumors circling about this place, right? Some weird shit's gone on down here, and everyone else in our extended network, and uh, I guess the Unova paranormal community at large, is too pussy to get around things like 'breaking and entering' or 'trespassing'. Not you guys, though. I had a psychic's intuition about you two!"

With that, his hand dips into the cavernous sleeve of his oversized sweater and pops back out with a pokeball, which is unceremoniously chucked at the ground to reveal a Dusknoir. "Now, I don't want to have to take a trip to the police station again, so in lieu of conventional form, Charon here is just going to phase us through this here door. Rather, he's gonna phase himself, we're gonna be onboard...inside him. It'll take like three seconds and it's actually quite comfortable and not at all weird, I promise." He promises.

"If either of you are into vore, please don't make this awkward, I'd really appreciate it."

As Milly talked about herself (all two sentences, if you count the apology rebuttal), Shane just stood there, nodding like someone who was actually, completely, whole-heartedly taking this information to heart. "It's, err, uh....it's nice to meet you, Ms. Milly." He gave her one more nod, before turning his attention to the teledick smoking up over there.

As it turns out, 'turning his attention to' meant 'walk over, while trying to not run into any more talking trash cans'. "Morty. Uh, M-Morty." Yes, Morty. "The Ecruteak Gym, uh, Lelealeader. Of Johto." Yes, that's what he said, man. "Nice to meet you too."

For whatever reason now, Shane looked nervous. "...uh...you can call me Sh-Shane." For emphasis, he pointed at himself. "I, uh....I've done some investigation, if it mememeans anything. There's a lot of static around here, uh, a lot of st-static. Very interesting vivivibrations here. Uh...." Now his voice grew rather meek. "I also encountered Giratina here, if that's anything notable."

Psychics? Doubtful. Milly was half-convinced psychics and Psychic-types were a complex Illuminati conspiracy to artificially balance the type chart and keep Fighting types in check. But that was a conspiracy for another day.

Since she already introduced herself and her blog, she listened to the others. Morty was a Gym Leader - which were part of the government plan to distract the populous and prevent them from questioning how the government and economy worked. But she chose not to hold that against Morty, for he probably didn't know.

Shane also mentioned Giratina. Now this she believed - like many truthers and theorists, she wasn't going to write off the existence of something she couldn't see. She gave him a nod of approval.

But as exciting as vore sounded, Milly had a different idea. She raised her hand up. "Why doesn't Dusknoir just phase through the door and unlock it for us?"